


I Can't Decide if It's a Choice Getting Swept Away

by iliveinfantasies



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff Event [4]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gen, Hicsqueak, Other, ww2018winterfluffchallenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 05:15:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16866814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveinfantasies/pseuds/iliveinfantasies
Summary: For reasons unknown, though Hecate suspected that Pippa was well involved, a number of the magical schools in the surrounding area had chosen to hold a Holiday Ball on the actual eve of Christmas day. This meant that hundreds of students were gathered, now, in the main ballroom at Pentangle’s, dancing and laughing and pressing sticky hands to each other’s shoulders, swaying awkwardly in time to an odd, vapid beat. Pentangle’s was the most modern location, and therefore the most malleable; the space having been physically stretched, by magic, to accomodate a larger crowd. Stones shifting in their sockets, rafters groaning, the lot of them had spend the evening before stretching and pulling and placing. Now, the whole of the hall was awash with color, and light, and glittering, massive, baubles of ice. The smell was overwhelming, cinnamon and nutmeg and crisp, fresh evergreen, and it had been this small thread of bright growth that had grounded Hecate for as long as it had.Not quite long enough, it seemed.----Day 4: PartyPairing: Hicsqueak





	I Can't Decide if It's a Choice Getting Swept Away

**Author's Note:**

> I am already a day behind, but here is my entry for day 4. This fic grew into something...not quite the direction I had planned, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but it's here.
> 
> Hopefully I can catch up today.
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr at iliveinfantasylife!

It was through sheer coincidence that Pippa found out that Hecate’s birthday was on Christmas day. 

It wasn’t something Hecate had ever talked about; her birthday wasn’t something that Hecate liked to discuss at all, in fact.

Pippa had spent a rather solid amount of their childhood time at Amulet’s attempting to drag the information out of Hecate. Day after day, once they’d first become friends, Pippa would ask, and coax, and goad. “Please, Hiccup?” she’d say, her voice the smooth, silky texture of mousse, the same timbre in her voice that she always seemed to slip into when she was trying to convince Hecate to do something far, far out of her comfort zone. 

Hecate had simply shaken her head and said, “I’m not telling you. It’s not like my birthday is important, anyway. I don’t celebrate it.”

When Hecate had continued to steadfastly refuse, Pippa had simply looked at her one day in mid-March, when the snow flurries were still flitting stubbornly through the air, and said, “Happy birthday, Hiccup!” 

Hecate had blinked, and tilted her head sideways, confusion and little irritation flooding her chest.

“It’s not my birthday,” she had said slowly, gingerly, as though afraid that she would get in trouble for it not being her birthday.

Pippa grinned. “It is now,” she said, yanking a rather rumpled looking present out of her pocket. “You won’t tell me, so I made one up for you. Plus, that’s one more day I can cross off of my mental chart of  _ not your birthday. _ ”

Hecate had groaned and rolled her eyes, but affection and just a little warmth seeped into her chest, fast and hard, absorbing into her bones. “You could be guessing for 356 years, Pippa.”

Pippa had shrugged, still grinning, and shoved the paper-wrapped gift into Hecate’s chest.

“Better get started, then.”

* * *

Hecate had never been much one for parties.

She hadn’t attended things like parties as a child. Hadn’t been given birthday gifts, nor, in fact, celebrated her birthday at all, really. Her father would give her one gift on her birthday--something practical and steadfast, like a leather bound spell book (full of spells that, Hecate would realize, years later, were far too advanced for a seven-year-old and rather ethically questionable), or a new hat. She still remembered, deeply and clearly, the one and only instance she’d ever had anything even vaguely resembling a birthday celebration--a single gift, a bracelet, given to her by her mother, and a single slice of cake. The first time ever, in her memory, that she’d been allowed such an indulgence.

As such, Hecate’s experience with parties came swiftly, and out of sheer necessity; a solstice celebration here, a holiday party there; a colleague's birthday, loud and mad and full of crisp, sugared candies that stayed on her tongue long after eating them. 

It was on the heels of one of these holiday parties, in fact, that Hecate found herself transferring, a little clumsily in her haste, into a far reaching corridor at Pentangle’s; worn and frayed around the edges, every bit of her high strung and jumpy. She was far beyond finished with people, and socializing, and the burnt-sugar scent of enchanted mistletoe.

For reasons unknown, though Hecate suspected that Pippa was well involved, a number of the magical schools in the surrounding area had chosen to hold a Holiday Ball on the actual eve of Christmas day. This meant that hundreds of students were gathered, now, in the main ballroom at Pentangle’s, dancing and laughing and pressing sticky hands to each other’s shoulders, swaying awkwardly in time to an odd, vapid beat. Pentangle’s was the most modern location, and therefore the most malleable; the space having been physically stretched, by magic, to accomodate a larger crowd. Stones shifting in their sockets, rafters groaning, the lot of them had spend the evening before stretching and pulling and placing. Now, the whole of the hall was awash with color, and light, and glittering, massive, baubles of ice. The smell was overwhelming, cinnamon and nutmeg and crisp, fresh evergreen, and it had been this small thread of bright growth that had grounded Hecate for as long as it had.

Not quite long enough, it seemed. 

Hecate had tried, she really had. Not as much as she could have perhaps, nor as much as she should, still, but she  _ had  _ tried. She had stayed just long enough to speak to the high ranking individuals, and her colleagues. Stayed to speak to Pippa, herself, though that ended up proving nearly impossible. Pippa had spent a good portion of the evening flitting from group to group, table to table, chattering and laughing and throwing around wide, shining smiles to each individual member of the magic counsel.

Seeing Pippa like that, warm and welcoming and bright, eyes shimmering like sunlight, solid and at ease and so, so natural in this space, had made Hecate feel as though she was tumbling, backwards. Had dredged up the years of awkward mumbles and dark, impatient gazes; pressed Hecate into a space that far too closely resembled the place she’d been in thirty years ago, when she had very first left. Left to prevent from holding Pippa back.

Left right after realizing exactly how far gone she was. 

How odd, and awkward, and desperately in love.

The same realization that Hecate had been trying to force down, again, for the last several months. And the knowledge, the absolute certainty that if Pippa ever found out, Hecate was sure she’d lose Pippa for good, this time.

The noise had grown unbearable, then, the chatter banal, the thick, overly-warm press of bodies far more than Hecate could handle. And so, she had disappeared. Just for a little while, she told herself. Until she could breathe.

Now, Hecate pressed herself against a turret window, the glass wonderfully solid and cool underneath her forehead, the stones of the floor heavy and grounding beneath her boots. She stood there, inhaling the crispness of the air, fresh and sweet and a little musky.

She stayed in that spot too long, she knew. She could feel the time passing, sense the late of the hour in her bones. But down there was noise and chatter and the thick, heavy humming of voices. Up here was nothing but the cool air stinging her face like needles, and sharp, tangy tingle of magic buzzing in the walls.

It wasn’t Christmas Day yet, though Hecate suspected that they were nearly there.

The moon was high up in the sky, spilling shards of clear blue light along the cobblestones. 

Moments later, a faint “pop” announced another person’s presence.

Hecate stiffened, just slightly, fingers digging lightly into the rough stone windowsill. She spun around, heels scraping against the floor, and saw Pippa standing there at the other end of the corridor.

Pippa was wearing a long, shimmering gown, rose blossom pink and glittering. Her hair was pulled all the way over one shoulder, waves cascading the scents of lavender and sugarplum into the air. Her hair, her ears, her eyelashes, all glittered with actual crystals of ice, sharp and glinting in the dim light of the hallway.

Hecate had seen her before, at the party; hurried and frazzled, running from one person to the next, attempting to make small talk with each and every student that passed through her doors.

But here.

She was a little less put together, now, than she had been before; a loose curl stuck out at an awkward angle by her ear, her cheeks flushed from running around, her eyes glinting and a little wild. Moonlight played around her, illuminating her in a wide half-moon of light.

She was utterly stunning.

And she was, Hecate was sure, here to drag her back to the party, kicking and screaming if absolutely necessary. 

A long beat passed, then another. The silence stretched around them, thin and tinny, Pippa regarding Hecate with a sideways glance.

Pippa took a step toward her, then another, until they were inches from each other, the sweet, herbal scent of Pippa’s hair filling the space between them like flowers. Hecate sighed, pressing her lips together. “I suppose--” she began, but Pippa interrupted her, leaning up to brush her lips delicately over Hecate’s cheek. Hecate froze.

“Happy birthday, Hiccup,” she said, quietly, softly, casting the words like the moon into the shadows. 

Hecate’s cheek burned like fire where Pippa’s lips had touched it, a sharp electricity blazing through her veins. It took a moment for PIppa’s words to sink in, and she frowned, slightly. It wasn’t at all what she had expected to hear, and now, the only thing she could think to say was, “You--you cannot  _ possibly _ have made such a lucky guess.”

Pippa laughed, delightedly, and the sound was bright and tinkling, like the stars themselves.

“Oh, Hiccup,  _ is  _ it your birthday?” she said, voice full of mirth, breath tickling Hecate’s cheek.

Hecate raised an eyebrow, goosebumps forming on her skin. “You didn’t actually  _ know?”  _ she asked, a little disbelievingly, and Pippa shrugged, lightly, shaking her head. 

“I didn’t,” she said, a slightly crooked grin perched on her face, “until right now. But it seemed as good a guess as any.”

Hecate huffed. “I suppose,” she said, haltingly, “that statistically speaking, that’s true.” Then, she swallowed, glancing up at Pippa, voice quiet. “Why did you come find me?”

Pippa looked down, her smile faltering, just a little. “I just. Wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

Her voice was overly-light, and Hecate heard the unspoken words under Pippa’s voice.  _ I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave, again. _

A wash of overwhelming shame hit Hecate all at once; thirty years of anguish and self-loathing and love, so, so much love. She took a quick step back, stomach dropping, opening her mouth to speak but feeling a vast emptiness where her words should have been. She was falling, she was--

A pair of arms wrapped tightly around Hecate’s neck, as Pippa’s lips pressed hard into her own.

Hecate startled, stiffened, before pulling away.

“What--what are you doing?” she gasped, voice far too raspy as breathy to be her own, and winced. She sounded like a simpering schoolgirl.

Pippa shook her head, fear settling into her eyes, as though she was only now catching up with what she had done. “I could see you...spiralling,” she said, firmly, though Hecate could hear the low quiver there. 

Hecate stayed frozen, unmoving, unable to move, to speak.

Pippa moved to step back. “I’m...I’m sorry, Hecate, I shouldn’t have--”

It was the use of Hecate’s full name that did it. Hecate shook her head, almost imperceptibly, and Pippa cut herself off. Hecate hesitated, blood roaring in her ears.

“You. I’m glad you. Did.”

Her voice was stiff, and still, but she looked into Pippa’s eyes, letting the meaning behind her words flood her own.

Pippa’s eyes widened, then softened, and the corners of her mouth tugged upward before she pressed her lips again, most softly this time, to Hecate’s own.

They melted into each other, that same, sparking electricity working its way through Hecate’s veins, and pulled away, a little breathless.

They said nothing, just stood, still, in the cool corredor, foreheads pressed together, breathing in each other’s air.

Then, Pippa laughed, again, lightly. “I can’t believe you’re a  _ Christmas  _ baby,” she said, and Hecate groaned. “I’ll never hear the end of this, will I?”

Pippa pulled away, eyes glittering with mischief and more than a little affection.

“Absolutely not,” she said, grinning.


End file.
